


trace and touch

by deviant900



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fill, Tattoos, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 13:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15909387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deviant900/pseuds/deviant900
Summary: “Can I ask you a personal question?”“I think we’ve passed the point of you needing to ask permission for that.” Hank’s brow pulled tight.Connor nodded, and his eyes once again drifted before returning back to Hank’s. “Can I see your tattoos?”





	trace and touch

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [somethingyesterday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingyesterday/pseuds/somethingyesterday) in the [dbhpromptmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/dbhpromptmeme) collection. 



> somethingyesterday posted a prompt in the dbh prompt meme and i fell for it. i'm a complete sucker for soft touches, and wanted to write another hankcon fic before returning to my rk1k series. this is my first time posting for a prompt collection, so i know i'm going to be doing _something_ wrong here. i encourage anyone willing to tell me what to do if i post it in the wrong thing, lol.
> 
> also, it's about to be glaringly obvious that, despite how much i've written for this fandom, i haven't ever touched the game. :') sorry for inaccuracies.
> 
>  
> 
> [song of the day: past present future - oliver tank](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ZgDtSDNJhg)

Connor had seen glimpses of them from beneath the collar of Hank’s shirt and poking out from beneath the legs of his boxers. Swirls of black and other dark tones that, because of how easily Hank could keep them hidden, he couldn’t see clearly. The opportunity for Connor to ask about them had never come up before, either because of the situation or because he had simply let the curiosity slip from his memory. An active crime scene wasn’t the most appropriate place to be asking personal questions.

Luck, it seemed, finally smiled upon him while they were at home. Connor was curled up on the couch with one of Hank’s real paper books, wearing his oversized DPD sweatshirt and flannel lounge pants. Hank was pouring himself a glass of whiskey (his first one that day, and well after six p.m., Connor noted with a proud smile), and he had a towel around his neck to catch droplets of water dripping from his hair. Connor could smell the artificial coconut perfume from his shampoo across the room.

Hank turned towards the living room, an ever-loyal Saint Bernard at his heels, and Connor could see the edge of the tattoo at his thigh, a shadow just out of clear sight. His eyes followed what lines he could see, and Hank huffed out a laugh as he settled into the couch beside Connor with a groan.

“See something you like, Connor?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his tone. Connor stared at him, LED blinking from blue to yellow in his silence. Hank took a sip of his whiskey as Sumo rested his head on the small space between them.

“Hank, I…” Connor’s voice trailed off. His temple remained yellow. Hank hiked a brow and let his glass fall from his lips. Connor’s eyes flitted down to his thigh, then back to Hank’s eyes. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“I think we’ve passed the point of you needing to ask permission for that.” Hank’s brow pulled tight.

Connor nodded, and his eyes once again drifted before returning back to Hank’s. “Can I see your tattoos?”

There was a moment of silence between them where Hank just looked at Connor, expression unchanging. Connor felt he had hit a nerve, and his LED spun a cycle of red as he tried to construct a way to change the subject. He scanned Hank’s vitals for any sense of stress or anger, and was surprised to find everything remained normal, minus the slight increase in blood alcohol content.

Hank smiled and laughed, startling Connor. “Is that it? You want to see my ink?” he asked.

“I wasn’t sure if asking would provoke an emotional response from you,” Connor admitted. “I know some humans who choose to dye their skin do so for emotional or very personal reasons. For example, Officer Chen has her grandmother’s name, birthday, and date of death on her wrist.”

“Yeah, Tina and her family are all pretty close.” Hank took another sip of his whiskey. “Mine, uh, aren’t so special. At least, they’re not really family-inspired.”

“I would still like to see them, Hank, if you’ll let me.”

Those brown eyes of his shone in the dim evening light, and, fuck, Hank really didn’t think that he could deny Connor anything. With a small, awkward smile and a sigh, Hank handed Connor his glass and leaned forward on the couch so he could pull his shirt over his head. It was a Knights of the Black Death concert shirt dated from years ago, when they were on tour back in 2023. Connor caught sight of city names and dates reaching down the back in white.

With his shirt tossed to the side and hanging over the couch arm, he shifted so he was turned towards Connor and bared his chest. Among the dark silver chest hair was the large tattoo that had piqued Connor’s initial interest, and he hadn’t realized just how intricate the work was. It looked like it had been maintained somewhat, lines stretched only a little from age and Hank’s gut, but Connor could still see a clear outline of a woman’s profile. Flowers lined the bottom of her frame, and what could have been an eagle hovered just above it. Connor’s facial recognition couldn’t identify her, though he didn’t expect it to recognize her.

Connor tilted his head as he inspected it, and Hank squirmed under his stare. He almost said something but the words caught in his throat. Connor’s hand reached out, hesitating for a moment and hovering over Hank’s skin, before his fingertips brushed gingerly over the black lines. He traced the curve of the frame from beneath the woman’s shoulder to the line above her head.

Hank’s heartbeat spiked. His chest raised with a sharp breath, and Connor snatched his hand back, as though the skin had burned him.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said, voice quiet and . . . was that shame Hank heard? “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Connor,” Hank reassured him. “If anything, it was just a surprise.”

“So, I can touch you?”

“Yeah, kid. You can touch.”

Connor smiled, the tension dropping from his shoulders at Hank’s words, and he reached out again. He caressed the face of the woman in the tattoo’s frame. He touched her sharp nose, traced over her cheek, and Hank watched the fascination on Connor’s face as his hand fell to her lips, lingered, and eventually pulled away. His eyes remained on it as he pulled his hand away and into his lap.

Hank was surprised that there was no hole currently being burned into his chest from how hard those android eyes focused on it.

Connor’s fingers touched his thigh next, and Hank watched them following the pattern and tickling his leg through the hair. Then, he grabbed Connor’s wrist as tips of his fingers trailed up beneath his boxers, finding what looked like the open neck of a bottle.

“Yeah, um.” Hank’s voice was tight, and he swallowed. Connor’s eyes were on his face now, hand relaxed in his grip. “If you keep on going like you’re going, this might turn into something indecent.”

Connor smiled, an innocent, almost adoring smile. Hank felt his heart stutter at the sight of it.

“You’ve allowed me to be intimate with you, Hank. Would it be so bad if I continued?”

He knew Connor could see everything in reaction to his question: his body temperature rising, especially in his face, and how his heart had skipped and beat harder in his chest. Connor knew exactly what his words were doing to him. Hank slipped his whiskey glass from Connor’s other hand and downed what was left in quick gulps. It burned pleasantly in his chest.

“Better make it good, kid,” he said and released Connor’s wrist.


End file.
